


Kiss It Better

by FagurFiskur



Series: 30 day cheesy tropes challenge [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Porn, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Season/Series 06, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-17 00:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1367110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FagurFiskur/pseuds/FagurFiskur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets a face full of sex pollen and it's up to Cas to save the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss It Better

**Author's Note:**

> 30 day cheesy trope challenge: #8 - Sex Pollen AU
> 
> [The challenge](http://ghiraher.tumblr.com/post/37135733342/30-day-cheesy-tropes-challenge)
> 
> I feel like I probably need someone to sit behind me while I write and flick my ear every time I get too long winded. These are supposed to be drabbles and they're supposed to take me an hour to write, not three days.
> 
> Also, this turned out kind of angsty? Not my intention, I swear.

Dean really hates witches. He hates going after one without back-up even more but there are three people dead and a fourth one dying, and someone needs to be looking for hexbags at the victim's house. Besides, the witch is expecting them to be scrambling after the hexbags, which gives Dean the element of surprise.

He picks open the lock on the witch's fancy-ass penthouse without a sound and carefully steps inside. The living room is to his left and he can see the witch standing in there, tending to a weird looking purple and yellow flower.

As he steps inside, Dean notices that the living room is full of them. He can vaguely recall seeing them somewhere before but he can't remember where. Whatever, he'll ice the witch first and then call Bobby about the flowers. Dean can already hear the other hunter's derisive voice, wondering whether he's going into floral arrangement now.

Dean cocks the gun and the sound catches the attention of the witch.

She turns around. "Oh my," she says dryly, "a big bad hunter with a gun. Whatever will I do?"

The complete lack of worry or fear is a little troubling but maybe her pokerface is just that good. "Drop dead, for one. Or how about you tell me where you hid the hexbag at Alice McCarthy's house and then I kill you?"

"Hexbag?" The witch rolls her eyes. "Oh _please_ , I like to think I'm a little subtler than that."

She gestures around her and Dean suddenly has the terrible realization of where he's seen those things before: at the first victim's house.

The witch smirks. "Usually my babies take days to work their magic. But there is a trigger word. Would you like to know what it is?"

Dean doesn't and he raises his gun to shoot, but the witch is quicker.

"Abra-cadabra."

The living room is filled with a fine, powdery mist. Dean manages one blind shot before his body feels like it's on fire and he drops to his knees. His world is narrowed down to unbearable _heat_ , all-encompassing, and it feels like he might pass out or die but he doesn't.

"Lucky me, I'm immune," the witch whispers into his ear, before grabbing his gun from his slackened grip. "With all the pollen you've inhaled, you'll be dead within minutes." She pushes him over and he falls flat on his back. "Wish I could stick around to see you die but I've got another hunter to get rid off."

Then she leaves, slamming the door behind her, but Dean is only barely aware of it. He pants for air and it takes all his mental effort to think to call Sam and warn him.

He reaches into his pocket for his phone but his hand gets lost along the way, and starts palming his dick through his pants instead. His rock-hard dick.

"Huh." Touching himself feels good but it's also frustrating because it's not nearly enough.

Right. Sam.

With much effort, Dean moves his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He dials Sam's number from memory, too out of it to think to use speed dial. It rings.

"Dean?"

"Sam," Dean mumbles. "Witch's comin' your way."

"Are you okay?" Sam sounds worried.

"'M fine," Dean lies. Then, because Sam is going to find out anyway, "No, 'm dyin'."

Sam curses. "Are you at the witch's place? I'll be there in fifteen."

"Too late. Sh'said it'd take minutes." Dean stops talking to take a few short breaths. There isn't enough air. He feels like he's suffocating. Feels like he's boiling in his skin, like his brain might start leaking out of his skull at any moment. The other victims had all died of a fever, he recalls hazily.

" _Dean!_ " Sam is shouting.

"'M here," Dean reassures him.

"You need to call Cas," Sam says. "He's the only one who can get there fast enough."

Cas wouldn't show. Too busy with his stupid angel war.

"Dean, promise me."

"I pr'mise," Dean huffs. He gets the feeling he's forgetting something, and as he looks up into the misty air, he remembers what. "Watch out f'r the flow'rs."

"Flowers?" Sam repeats skeptically.

"Purple 'n yellow. Ugly fuckers."

"Look out for the purple and yellow flowers, got it. Now call Cas."

Dean nods, not realizing that Sam can't see him, and clumsily hangs up. His palms have gotten sweaty and the phone slips from his grip. Dean lets it drop. He doesn't need it, anyway, not to call...

Who was he supposed to call? Sam? No, he just finished talking with him.

Bobby? Could Bobby help? He knows a lot, maybe he know what the hell is yellow and purple and causes you to feel like you're slowly melting while also sporting the most stubborn erection known to man.

Dean grapples blindly around for his phone for a couple of second before giving up. Can't call Bobby, then. Can't call anyone, who's gonna hear him without a phone?

"Cas," Dean mumbles to himself, remembering. "Cas, s'rt of dyin'. Be nice 'f you came."

He closes his eyes. He can't be bothered to keep them open anymore. His body feels hot and heavy and all he can do is just keep drawing breath.

There is a sound Dean is pretty sure he didn't make. He can't make it out but it might be a voice. Then someone's putting their hand on his forehead. It's gloriously cool and Dean whimpers pathetically. He leans into the hand, wishes it would touch him all over.

"I cannot heal you," Cas says, and Dean realizes that it was his voice before, and his hand on Dean's forehead. "I must attempt the traditional cure."

The hand leaves and Dean whines in protest. "Cas. I need-"

"I know what you need," Cas cuts him off, not unkindly.

Then he's undoing Dean's pants and pulling out his by now painful erection, and the hand on his forehead before was nothing, _nothing_ compared to this. Cas' grip is tight and it's at once maddening and the best thing Dean has ever felt. He starts moving his hand, fast and hard, causing pleasure to ride over Dean in waves. His body feels like one giant nerve, flayed open and vulnerable, tingling with the tantalizing promise of relief. Cas' hand on his dick is amazing but it's not enough; Dean needs him everywhere. His hands, his mouth, all of it, he wants Cas draped across him, wants every inch of skin Cas has to offer.

He reaches out his hands to pull Cas closer, but Cas grabs them and pins them to the floor, holding both of Dean's wrists in one hand. Dean's so close, and the twin touches of Cas' hands on his cock and his wrists make him burn for more. Dean moans loudly, both in pleasure and in frustration, Normally, he would be embarrassed to be making so much noise, but there's no room for anything but the heat and the need and _closer, Cas, please_.

Dean opens his eyes. Cas is hovering above him, inches away, his expression grim and focused. Dean raises his head and the gap between them closes as their lips meet. For one moment that feels like eternity, Cas is frozen. Then, his hand starts moving again, even faster, and he's kissing Dean back and that is _it_.

Dean comes. His body seizes and it feels so overwhelming, the pain and the pleasure, and he's certain he must be dying but it feels _so good_ and what a way to go.

It passes, eventually. Dean comes back to his senses, all of the sudden aware that he's biting down on Cas' lower lip. He releases it and Cas leans back, letting go of his wrists and tucking his soft dick back into his pants. The heat is gone and the air no longer feels stifling. If not for how exhausted Dean feels, he'd say it was as if it never was there.

"That was," he says awkwardly, "er, thanks."

"It was no trouble." Cas has his 'I'm an Angel of the Lord' face on, which means he's impossible to read, but Dean can still recognize the tension in his shoulders for what it is. "The nature of the pollen is such that your own touch would not have been enough to clear it from your system." He clears his throat, his hardened expression crumbling into an awkward grimace. "It is usually a harmless aphrodisiac, but it had been tampered with."

"So, cursed sex flowers," Dean summarizes.

"Essentially," Cas agrees.

Dean's eyes fall on his lips. He can still taste Cas' blood in his mouth but there is no trace of a wound. Still, Dean has the crazy urge to kiss it better.

Cas starts to pull away. "I should be going back to Heaven."

"Wait," Dean says, before he can stop himself. He grabs Cas' arm, knowing that Cas could shake him off easily if he weren't willing to stay. Cas doesn't. "Just..."

He licks his lips. Cas' eyes dart downwards as he absentmindedly echoes the action.

That clinches it. Dean leans up and kisses Cas again, soft and unhurried this time. Cas lets out a desperate noise against his lips and returns the kiss, deepening it. Dean can feel Cas' erection pushing against his thigh and he wants, more than anything, to return the favor.

"Cas," Dean gasps, breaking the kiss. "Stay."

Cas swallows. "Dean, I...." he stiffens. "I can't."

And he's gone. Dean is left alone on the living room floor, feeling cold and empty. Stupid, asking Cas to stay. Why would he want to?

" _Idiot_."

Dean turns his head and spots his phone. He stares at it blankly; he should call Sam, let him know that he isn't dead. Even if he really isn't looking forward to explaining why.


End file.
